Broken Glass
by Mourningdawns
Summary: Marshall's life is suddenly shattered, like a glass on a tile floor. Who will put him back together. Implied eventual MM, of course.


There is something tragically beautiful about shattered glass. The way it catches the light, the potential danger is poses is somehow alluring. The breaking of something glass, something so beautiful in it's own right, seems almost surreal. As Marshall Mann stared down at the broken glass on the floor, he couldn't quite comprehend what had happened. Why had the glass slipped through his fingers, spilling its contents on the floor, shattering into a thousand fragments, glittering on the tile of his kitchen? Had something happened? The water ran into the grout, carrying small pieces of his glass with it. Unthinking, unsure of what had happened Marshall dropped to his knees, not feeling the piercing pain as glass cut through his thin pajama pants. He didn't notice when shards of glass sliced his palms as he tried to clean up the spill. Why was this happening? What was happening? How…? Why…?

Suddenly, he remembered. The note. The note on the counter that had caused his breath to hitch and his grip on his drinking glass to slacken. The note that sent water streaming around his beige tiles, carrying with it sparkling glass. The note that read:

"Marshall-

I remembered I left my flash drive in your laptop.

So, I came and got it.

In exchange, I left a pie (in the fridge).

I'll see you later for dinner.

Also, I love you.

Always and forever yours,

Megan"

Megan. The woman he loved. Had loved. Still loved? The woman who's body had been broken, her frame crushed in a car wreck. The woman he had kissed and held the day before, whispering sweet nothings in French in her ear.

The fleeting moments he had seen her in the hospital, before her heart stopped working, before the nurses gently led him out of the room as the doctors rushed in, were ingrained in his memory. The area around both her eyes was dark blue, almost black, with bruising. A tube was down her throat, helping her breath. There was a chest tube in her side. From what Marshall could see around the chest tube, her chest was also bruised, bearing the same coloration as the area around her eyes. A little bit of blood was still on her face, probably splattered there during the crash. In all the chaos that surrounded her, no one had thought to wipe it away.

Marshall had reached out a hand, to try to get rid of it, but he stopped short when her eyelids fluttered and she opened her bloodshot eyes. She had looked at him, meeting his eyes fully for one, two, three seconds before her gaze faded. That's when the alarms started going off.

Marshall had been ushered out of the room quickly, just before a flood of hospital personnel entered. A whirl of scrubs and white lab coats seemed to surge in. Marshall could only watch in shock. Somewhere deep in his mind, he knew what was happening. He could explain the mechanics behind situation and possibly also its etymology. But he couldn't do any of that then. He could hardly even breathe.

When a doctor finally came out to talk to him, he had slid down the wall, sitting on the floor. The doctor started talking to him and for once he had no idea what he was saying. All he could decipher was that she was never going to leave cute notes at his house, or on his coffee cups. She would never again fall asleep in his arms on the couch or take his hand. Yesterday had been the last night they would share, and that kiss would be the final good-bye kiss.

When the doctor walked away, Marshall got to his feet, to leave the hospital. He had only gotten as far as the front of the building. He stopped sit on a bench, where he had remained for an hour, ignoring the chill of the desert night as it slowly sunk through to the marrow of his bones. Finally his cell phone rang and he was forced out of his haze when he saw that it was Mary. He answered.

"Yeah?"

"Hey String bean, where have you been? I've called you, like, eighty times."

"I…I was…" he could breathe suddenly. Everything hit him suddenly. He was at the hospital. Megan had died. Everything else…was a blur.

"You were what? C'mon, Marshall are you even paying attention?"

"Yeah…I…I'm at…the-the-"

"Marshall! You're keeping me in suspense here! Just tell me where the hell you are!"

"Hospital. Albuquerque General. " He whispered. He hadn't meant to be so quiet but he couldn't bring himself to be any louder.

"Oh my God. Are you ok? Marshall, what happened?"

"Could you…just come get me?" For once, Mary didn't protest, didn't question him.

"I'll be right there."

And within minutes she was. She had parked in front of the building, angering the drivers behind her. She got out of her car, and saw his tall from slumped on a bench. In an uncharacteristic display of her softer side, she rushed over to him worriedly.

Looking him over, she could see no obvious sign of injury. But he looked so broken. So crushed.

"What happened? Marshall, what happened?" He looked up at her with sad eyes, making brief eye contact before looking away again.

"Megan…Megan's gone." Mary's mouth dropped open.

"Oh Marshall! I'm sorry, buddy." She hugged him tightly, feeling him shiver. "Let's get you back home, ok? Let's get you warm."

That was how Marshall got home. Mary had gotten him into his pajamas laid him down to sleep. He had complied obediently, not knowing what else to do. He hadn't cried, not one single tear. Sometime in the middle of the night, he had woken up thirsty. That was when he found the note and dropped the glass.

As he sat on the floor now, watching blood trickle down his hand as glass lodged itself in the skin, Mary walked in.

"Marshall?" She asked sleepily.

"I…I dropped a glass…"

"I heard." She surveyed the damage, sighing as she saw his bloodied hands and the dark red stain on his airplane pajamas. C'mon. Better get you cleaned up, doofus."

"No…I'm ok." She rolled her eyes.

"You're bleeding, numb nuts." He looked down at his hands and knees.

"She left a note."

"What? Who? What're you talking about?"

"On the counter." Marshall sat back on his heels as Mary walked around the broken glass and picked up the note.

"Oh, Marshall" She groaned.

"If she hadn't come by here…"  
"Shhh, don't think about it. C'mon, I can't sleep with you bleeding."

She led Marshall in to the bathroom and bandaged his hands and knees as best she could. She was distinctly reminded of when Brandi would skin her knees when she was learning to roller-blade as a child. After he was bandaged, she found another pair of pajama pants (these had trains on them) and waited outside the bathroom while Marshall changed. When he opened the door, she led him to his bedroom.

"Don't leave." He grasped her hand as the words slipped out. "Please." She looked over him, unsettled by the weakness he was showing. She understood that he should be upset but seeing her partner so hurt made her want to do something. And there was nothing she could do about this.

"Fine." She sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. "What's up, Marsh?" He swallowed and her heart ached as she saw tears welling in his eyes. "Oh, Marshall…" She hugged him, held him, as he started to cry. He clung to her with bandaged hands, fingers wrapping around the loose material of her T-shirt. He buried his face in her neck, tears running down to her shirt collar. Rocking him gently, whispering comforting words in his ear, her eyes were wide with a sort of fear.

What was she supposed to do? This wasn't her area of expertise. It was far from it. Sure, she could fake comforting with witnesses, reciting lines she had memorized somewhere. But this was Marshall. He needed more than that and besides; he knew all of her lines anyway. So she just said nothing at all. She held him as he cried, rubbed his back as the sobs turned to choked coughs and eventually wiped the tears off his face as he lay in her arms.

She looked down over him, exhaling heavily at the sight in front of her; Marshall's flushed, wet face, his sweat dampened hair all contributed to make him look vulnerable. So vulnerable she could hardly stand it. They were supposed to be the strong ones, she thought to herself. They protected people as vulnerable as Marshall looked right then.

"I'm sorry." Marshall whispered in a hoarse voice. Mary jumped a little, startled out of her thoughts. She blushed slightly.

"No, don't say that, Marshall." She smiled and pushed his hair away from his face. "I've broken down on you more times than I'd really care to admit. I'm just returning the favor." Marshall managed to offer up a watery smile.

"Thanks. I didn't…didn't mean for-"

"It's fine." He sighed.

"Ok."

"Now, get some sleep, dork face." She started to work her way out from under him but a hand on hers once again stopped her.

"Stay?"

"Marshall…." She sighed. However, one look with those blue eyes and she relented. "Fine. Scoot over." She pulled the comforter over the two of them.

"Thanks. I…I don't think I can be alone right now." Mary almost wished she could slap him. Somehow, in the midst of tragedy, he was being so strong, even when he thought he was being weak. It was almost unfair. She never had that courage to ask for help, even when she knew she needed it, even when she knew Marshall would always help her.

"You'll be alright. I'm not going anywhere. Not like you could rid of me anyways. Even if you wanted to." She teased gently, easily falling back into her familiar habits. He managed a slight smile and rolled onto his side and fell asleep.

Marshall went to work the next day, despite the protests of Mary and Stan. He seemed to be doing alright, but this illusion ended when he answered his phone.

"Hello?" Mary looked up and watched her partner carefully, like she had been all day. He sat frozen, listening to the mystery-caller for a solid minute before speaking. "Sir, I…" He bit his lip, looking down and away from Mary. She still saw the way his hands started to tremble and she could even see that he was breathing faster. She saw the way he closed his eyes against the tears, the way he stiffened his shoulders to keep them from shaking.

"Marshall?" She whispered. He shook his head.

"Sir, I…There was nothing I cou-" He stopped talking suddenly and Mary had to look away as a lone tear slipped down his check. "I'm sorry for your loss" He whispered before putting the phone down in the cradle and got up quickly, almost running out of the office. Stan peered out his door after him.

"What just happened?" Mary shrugged as she followed Marshall.

She tailed Marshall to the bathroom, where she found him, bent over a toilet, vomiting.

"Marshall! What happened?" She walked up behind him, rubbing his back as he continued to retch.

"He's right. I should have done something. Anything. If I had noticed that she forgot it or maybe if I'd been home. Or I could have, I could have" Marshall panted trying to catch his breath.

"Marsh, calm down. Calm down. Who called?" She asked, catching him and lowering him to the ground as he slumped against her. She could hear him hyperventilating, covering his face with his hands. "Marshall, Marshall! Breathe!" She grabbed his shoulders, trying to get his attention. Panic attack, she deduced, as Marshall clung to her, his body shaking like San Francisco during the World Series.

After five or so minutes, Marshall had returned to normal breathing habits.

"Who called, Marshall?" Mary asked, trying to forget that she wanted to strangle the asshole and then throw his body into a pit of hunger lions.

"Megan's dad. He's…understandably upset." Mary held Marshall closer.

"But so are you. You don't deserve that. You're just as upset as him. You shouldn't even be working today."

"What am I supposed to do? Sit home all day with nothing to do but think about her? That isn't going to help anything. That'll make it worse."

"Maybe you should go home."  
"Mary, I-"

"No, not your house home, your parent's home. Go up to Wyoming and…do whatever it is there is to do in Wyoming for a while. Relax. Come back when you feel better." Marshall gave her a skeptical look. "C'mon Marsh, it's not like Stan can really tell you no on this one. And besides, it sure beats the hell out of sitting around here having panic attacks or whatever."

The next day, Marshall Mann went to Wyoming, to the little town at the foot of the mountains where he had spent his childhood. He stayed for a month and three days. On the fourth day, Mary picked him up at the airport. They went out to get lunch and then went to Marshall's house. Marshall never said anything, and Mary didn't point it out, but he noticed someone had cleaned up the broken glass. He strongly suspected it was the same person who had picked up his broken heart in their own hands, not afraid of getting hurt; only wanting to help. As they sat and watched TV in the living room, Marshall looked at Mary and said

"Thanks." Out of the blue. Mary looked at him quizzically.

"For what?"

"Just…everything, Mar. Thanks for everything."

AN: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
